


Laugh Thrice, Cry Once

by Khaelis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: Three times the Doctor laughed. One time the Doctor cried.At least, they were happy. He could only be happy, too.





	Laugh Thrice, Cry Once

**Author's Note:**

> I can't decide if this is angsty or not. Probably a little, I suppose, but not really. TBH, I don't know.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this little story!

* * *

 

 

The first time it happened, he was sitting cross-legged under the console, dozens of wires in one hand, his sonic screwdriver in the other. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Tinkering with things that didn’t need tinkering, busying his hands and his brain, focusing his thoughts on something else than his everlasting pain and sorrow. He was used to it.

 

His screwdriver buzzed, one of the wire sparked, a burn spread over the back of his hand. He laughed. Odd. Usually, he would curse at his ship or glare at the culprit. But that one time, he laughed. It scared him. To feel the joy bubbling in his stomach, to feel his lungs fill with air to fuel the laughter, to feel his brain buzz with excitement and… Was that love? 

 

His hands clenched his sides made painful by so much hilarity and he fell down on his back, gleeful tears rolling down his temples. A flash of blond hair behind his eyelids, a picture of a naked body. 

 

It stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he was left with an awkward feeling of nothing. His laugh turned to a giggle, then to a silent smile, until he pinched his lips and swallowed the hard ball in his throat. He rubbed the back of his hands under his nose and sighed. At least, they were happy. He could only be happy, too.

 

The second time it happened, he was in the middle of a negotiation with a bunch of aliens in a far corner of the universe, on a planet that was more of a giant dumpster than an actual planet. Death threats, terrorism, bombs ready to explode. Nothing to laugh about, really. But he did. In the middle of an offer, a giggle rose in his throat and his fierce frown morphed into a stupid grin. 

 

He laughed, loud, his body bending forward on its own to alleviate the pain in the muscles of his abdomen, his eyes squeezed shut to chase the ecstatic tears. And behind his eyelids, a flash of blond hair, a picture of laced fingers, each hand bearing a golden ring.

 

It stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he was left with a comforting feeling of completion. He cleared his throat several times to tame the laughter dwindling down to giggles, wiped the tears rolling down his cheeks, and his manic grin gave way to another frown. At least, they were happy. He could only be happy, too. For the both of them. For  _ him _ .

 

The third time it happened, he was nestled against a cushion in the library, a heavy philosophy book opened on his lap, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Nothing particularly funny about any of it. But he laughed. He felt just a tiny flutter of something between his hearts, for just a tiny fraction of a second, and he laughed. Not very loud, this time, just a rumble in the back of his throat and puffs of air coming out of his lips.

 

He closed his book and reigned a few tears in. This happiness was theirs, and theirs only. But behind his eyelids, a flash of blond hair, a picture of pouty, minuscule fingers wrapped around a bigger one.

 

It stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he was left with a treacherous feeling of jealousy. Not for long. They were happy. He could only be happy, too. For the three of them. For that part of him who was living the life he had always dreamt of.

 

He stood up, walked to the shelf, and picked a thin book with a laughing bunny on the cover. He read it aloud by the fire, and he smiled.

  
  


The fourth and last time it happened, by accident or by fate, he was in bed, looking up at the dark ceiling. Nothing exciting, really. Just trying to get some sleep. He should be feeling nothing. But he felt too much. Both his hearts broke in his chest, his stomach heaved under the waves of pain, silent tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. No flash of blond hair, no other picture. Only black. Black pain, black sorrow.

 

He rolled to his side, reached for the heart-shaped cushion he had stolen from her room. He buried in his nose in the pink fuzz, and he cried. Even when his presence was gone from his mind, he cried. For an hour, maybe, or two, or the whole night. He was heartbroken. He could only be heartbroken, too. For him, for that part of him who was learning what it meant to be human, that part of him who’d have to live alone, without the blond-haired woman who had brought so much love in his life. And he cried.

  
  


It mustn’t have been more than two months later. He was standing atop of hill of bright yellow grass, the deep purple sky diluting into a pale pink on the horizon. He felt it. How his left heart missed a few beats for no apparent reason. How a little hole was momentarily carved in a corner of his mind. He felt the tear that hung to his eyelashes and he looked up at the night sky, at those two sparkling diamonds pinned on the endless canvas of the universe.

 

They both had lived their happy lives. He could only be happy, too.

 

* * *

 


End file.
